Eternally Regressing Knight-Chapter 483 - Reckless Calm

Chapter 483 - Reckless Calm

The western lands were vast.

Beyond the six tribes, there were others who clung to their traditions, whether out of stubbornness or devotion.

Among them was someone the short-haired blonde had met in the city of Oara.

Even Rem knew one such person—a wanderer who dabbled in cursed poisons, as the blonde had mentioned.

"Didn't you say leaving traces everywhere was dangerous? Then why use cursed poison?"

While picking flowers and tracking the signs of giants, Rem stumbled upon an old friend from a smaller tribe.

"How did you figure it out?"

The black-eyed woman asked, her tone free of suspicion and full of pure curiosity, as always.

She stood above Rem on a slope, while he remained below.

That was typical of her.

Even the fact that Rem had returned to the western lands didn't seem to surprise her.

She likely hadn't even noticed his absence.

"Just happened to," Rem answered casually.

Her black eyes blinked a few times.

Whatever thoughts she had remained impenetrable, but her nature and goals hadn't changed.

She was still the same person who preferred to step back like a ghost, observing people from a distance and finding joy in merely watching the world go by.

As the wind blew her long hair around, she tied it back with a ribbon she had pulled out, her movements unhurried and practical.

"There's no one else who uses cursed poison, so it wasn't hard to connect the dots."

The encounter was purely coincidental. Tribes like hers avoided interaction with outsiders, believing that isolation was the only way to preserve their spiritual essence. And yet, amidst such insular traditions, anomalies occasionally emerged.

This particular woman, gazing at the stars one night, had wandered beyond her tribe's borders, eventually reaching the frontier settlements.

She believed her tribe could no longer afford to stay isolated, a stance born of both ideology and personal desire.

"Stagnant water rots," she used to say.

Her belief, however, was underpinned by a simple yearning to observe the world and its people.

Rem, in the past, dismissed their customs as nonsense. They claimed that merely conversing with others or mingling thoughts could erode their spiritual power. Women who had never touched a man were deemed worthy of becoming priestesses.

It was absurd. Magic didn't work that way. Yet, Rem acknowledged that their faith lent them power. Rituals rooted in deep belief strengthened their magic.

These tribes worshiped the same sky god born from birch trees, but their way of life was starkly different. Was it fair to criticize them for it? To scorn their traditions or force them to change? There was no need. They harmed no one and simply wished to live as they always had.

If anything, they were often the targets of aggression, as some groups coveted their spiritual energy. But these tribes, for their part, avoided conflict, rarely seeking any form of exchange with the outside world.

Even this black-eyed anomaly, whom Rem jokingly called a "misfit," did little beyond occasionally venturing out to observe the world.

"This time, you've gone far, haven't you?" Rem asked.

The black-eyed woman replied without hesitation. It wasn't a secret, and the issue remained unresolved even now.

"Three summers ago, a madman tried to steal our sacred offering. We lost part of it and have been searching for it ever since."

The cursed poison practitioners were formidable. Even Rem couldn't take on an entire tribe alone. But this so-called offering—it was the core of their faith, akin to a holy relic in the wider world.

When their traditions, energy, or beliefs were violated, even these pacifist tribes were willing to engage with the outside world—through battle.

And some lunatic had dared to steal it.

The misfit had likely seen or heard more of the outside world than anyone else in her tribe. Though she hadn't come seeking help, it was clear they had been the first victims.

"It was a foreigner from the continent. A mage," she explained.

Rem pieced together what he knew, arranging the fragments in his mind to form a picture. He sought the motives behind the events, but his interest was less about solving the mystery and more about confronting whoever had done this.

"Want to join me in taking them down and reclaiming the offering?" he asked.

"We know where they are. But if we fight, we'll lose," she admitted.

Their tribe's priestess had already lost an arm in a previous encounter. For them, the offering was vital, but sacrificing the entire tribe to retrieve it wasn't an option.

"Fine. When we fight, you can come and take it back," Rem said simply.

***

Rem moved with precision, his left axe deflecting a giant's club as his right axe slashed horizontally.

Thwack! Splurch!

The club ricocheted off his left axe, and the right axe cleaved into the giant's shin, splitting flesh as purple blood spurted out.

"Could've just found it and handed it back," Rem thought, leaping aside.

Boom!

The club smashed into the ground, sending stones flying. The terrain was rugged, covered in gravel, rocks, and sand. The giant's strength left deep craters wherever its weapon struck.

The giant was powerful, but its strength was meaningless if its attacks didn't connect. Rem, however, remained calm.

Compared to facing ten thousand phantoms, this was easy.

Whoosh!

A club swung down toward him. It was a dark brown weapon, its uniform appearance suggesting it had been crafted for the giants. Someone had supplied them with these weapons, likely at great expense.

As the club descended, Rem raised his left axe, bending his knees slightly and leaning forward.

Crash!

A deafening sound erupted as the club struck, but Rem wasn't crushed. Instead, the club halted mid-strike.

Using his monstrous strength, Rem absorbed the impact with his arm, channeling the force through his body and into the ground. His muscles distributed the energy evenly, softening the blow.

In the past, he would've taken it head-on with brute force. Not anymore. He had grown more skilled, more experienced.

Crack!

A fracture appeared in the club where his axe had struck. Without hesitation, Rem charged forward.

Drdrdrdrdr!

The club split apart under the force of the axe in Rem's left hand. Alarmed, the giant lashed out with a kick, sending Rem flying backward.

Undeterred, Rem pushed forward with the axe in his right hand, setting up his next move.

With his left hand, he batted away the shattered remains of the club and aimed the blade of his axe at the giant's ankle—a sluggish target compared to Enkrid's swordsmanship. He spun, drawing a tight circle with his axe.

Crack.

The giant's skin was as tough as iron, impervious to ordinary blades.

But Rem's axe bit through without hesitation, slicing deep.

Dark purple blood spurted violently as the nearly severed ankle dangled grotesquely.

The massive body collapsed with a heavy thud, pooling blood spreading quickly across the ground.

"Grrraaaah!"

The giant howled in agony, but its eyes remained lifeless.

Those dull, unfocused pupils had seemed off from the beginning.

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There was no trace of thought behind them—only an empty, animalistic haze, like someone heavily drugged.

These giants were unlike the adversaries Rem had faced when first entering the West.

Or maybe they were the same; those other enemies hadn't been particularly normal either.

But did it matter?

The giant, roaring in pain, swung its massive hand wildly.

Rem sidestepped and struck with his left axe, deflecting the incoming blow.

Thunk!

The blade cracked under the strain.

Without hesitation, Rem hurled the broken weapon like a spear.

Though the jagged edge couldn't pierce the giant's tough hide, it was sharp enough to target its vulnerable eye. The makeshift projectile flew straight and true, stabbing into the giant's pupil.

"GRAAAA!"

The giant let out another tortured scream as clear fluid mixed with dark purple blood and splattered across the ground.

"Hand me another axe," Rem commanded, stretching a hand backward.

Behind him stood a warrior carrying a literal arsenal of axes. In the hierarchy of their group, this person was akin to a squire—a helper responsible for logistical tasks and combat support. Here, they were referred to as "small warriors." At first, the small warrior had been puzzled about the excessive number of axes they were made to carry. Now, they understood.

Weapons that could endure Rem's strength were a rare commodity.

"Hyaaah!"

With a sharp cry, the small warrior hurled an axe. It spun through the air and landed perfectly in Rem's waiting hand.

Thwack.

Rem caught the axe effortlessly, flexing his neck from side to side as he prepared for his next move.

"Keep your damn eyes open," he muttered.

None of the giants responded.

They showed no fear, no hesitation—only a blind, unrelenting desire to kill.

Their white eyes, with unfocused dark pupils, held no life.

The only emotion visible was a raw, primal bloodlust.

For most, facing such creatures would have been paralyzing. But not for Rem.

His lips curled into a crooked grin.

"Bunch of mindless bastards."

He hefted the axe onto his shoulder, exuding an air of casual confidence.

Meanwhile, Enkrid continued slicing through the mages.

"Th—"

"Thi—"

"Cur—"

"Curse—"

The enemy mage, caught in a strange, silent affliction, struggled to complete his spells.

Enkrid paid no mind, relentlessly pressing the attack.

His strikes were methodical, precise, and unyielding—his persistence reminiscent of Oara's endless assault.

Nearby, other mages began to chant and clasp their hands in preparation for a ritual.

Snap!

A whip cracked through the air, disrupting their incantations.

It was Luagarne.

"So, you're all cultists," Lagarne said coolly, her tone calm but laced with cold fury.

"Rethir, your enemies are gathered here in droves."

Muttering words incomprehensible to anyone else, Luagarne dove into the fray, wielding both his whip and blade.

Rem, always aware of his surroundings even amidst the chaos, spared a glance toward Luagarne's battle.

The faces of the enemies were familiar.

Some were fairies, but most were human—and disturbingly recognizable.

They were the cannibals he had fought in the past, lunatics who believed consuming human flesh would grant them power.

These were the very same ones whose heads he had split open before leaving.

Their alliance with the cultists wasn't surprising, nor was it entirely their fault.

After all, the man who was supposed to be their champion had met his end beneath Rem's axe.

From there, it was a downward spiral—oppression, desperation, and finally, the lure of the cultists.

Rem didn't dwell on the morality of it all.

What was done was done.

There was no point in regretting it.

The battle was chaotic, but it wasn't a true melee—only a handful of combatants fought.

To his right, Dunbakel dashed forward, slashing at the wrist and forearm of a giant with her curved blades.

With sudden audacity, she darted under her opponent's guard and sliced vertically through its chin, then withdrew just as quickly.

Her movements were faster than ever, leaving streaks of dark purple blood in her wake.

"They're cultists!" Luagarne shouted.

"I see now... slaying them one by one with a sword is the only way this will ever end!"

Her voice was steady but burned with righteous anger.

Rem couldn't help but wonder why Luagarne was suddenly so impassioned.

Regardless, as long as she fought well, it didn't matter.

Clang.

Rem clashed the blades of his twin axes together, letting out a sharp metallic ring.

No matter their madness or savagery, these enemies had endangered his wife and family.

If Ayul had died, he would have lost all restraint.

"Not a single one of you gets past me," he muttered, though the words felt unnecessary.

The giants were too far gone to take orders or retreat.

Nearby, the best warrior Narai, known as Geonnara, raised his totem—a weathered wolf's head carved from dark wood.

"Wolf god, wolf god," he prayed, veins bulging violet against his skin.

With a fierce invocation, he called upon the spirit of the wolf to descend and devour his foes.

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